Count Your Blessings
by mattsloved1
Summary: John explains to Sherlock why he wants to have some people over for a 'dinner of thanks.' (A 221B that added 1570 words before it would let me stop! LOL) The rating is because of a brief adult theme mention.


Many thanks to Ariane DeVere who betaed this piece for me! She also has transcripts of each Sherlock episode, and more, on her LiveJournal page and they are extremely helpful!

I do not own, nor do I profit from.

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John had just closed the oven door when Sherlock sat down at their kitchen table. Tousled hair and clothes in disarray showed his earlier collapse at the end of a five day case. The detective had dropped his coat onto the sofa and promptly fallen asleep on their bed for twenty straight hours.

"Decide to join the land of the living again, have you?" John teased as he kissed his lover on the forehead.

Sherlock grunted as he leaned into John's stomach.

"Want something to eat? You've been out for nearly a full day."

"Just some toast." Sherlock stretched up to steal a kiss. "What are you cooking?"

"I've got a pot roast and some vegetables in. Greg, Molly, Harry and Mrs. Hudson are coming for dinner tonight. So no experiments today, please. I don't want any explosions when we'll be having company in a few hours." John moved to turn on the hot water so he could wash dirty dishes.

"Why are they all coming tonight?" Sherlock pouted. "I would have appreciated being asked if _I_ wanted to entertain. The flat is half mine, you realise. Next you'll be telling me Mycroft is coming too." Sherlock got up, stalked through the living room and dropped into a corner of the sofa, his legs tucked up, chin on his knees and long arms wrapped just below. "Might as well invite Anderson and Donovan while you're at it," he grumbled.

Once the dishes were washed, and in the strainer to dry, John sat down next to his sulking darling.

"We agreed two weeks ago that we'd have a dinner with some family and friends this week."

Sherlock perked up and looked at John suspiciously. "When exactly did we have this conversation?"

The picture of innocence, John replied, "Ten days ago."

"I wasn't even at home ten days ago! I was in Helsinki on a case for Mycroft!"

"Well, it's hardly _my_ fault you weren't listening," John answered, mischievous grin on his face.

"Very funny," Sherlock hissed. He drew tighter into himself while John laughed.

Moments later, John put his arm around the irate man and tugged until he could lay his head on dark curls. The tall body still stiff, John spoke in soft tones.

"Last month a colleague, who grew up in America, was talking about Thanksgiving when they were a child and how each family member would each say what they were thankful for before eating their meal."

"But you aren't American and Thanksgiving was last week, John."

"Yes, thank you Sherlock, I do realise that. It's not the holiday I want to celebrate exactly but..." John paused.

Sherlock peered up at the dear face above him. "But?" he questioned.

"Five years ago I was in Afghanistan and the only family member I had was drowning in a bottle. Then I got shot and everything went from bad to worse. I had no idea who I was supposed to be any more. Back a short time, I was running out of money and, with no work, I thought for sure I'd have to leave London. Until one afternoon, while walking through the park, I ran into Mike and he introduced me to this insane genius he knew."

Sherlock elbowed John in the ribs. John's response was to cradle Sherlock's left hand in his own as he continued.

"For a little over a year we had adventures and chased criminals through the streets and over the rooftops of London. But then there was Moriarty and it ended outside of St. Bart's. Or at least I thought it did."

Sherlock rested their joined hands above his heart.

"See, before you I had always assumed I would get married to a nice girl and settle down. Yet, once I started living with you here and working cases, the future vision I had of my life changed. I couldn't imagine doing anything different. The idea of not having you in my life was intolerable."

"You know I didn't want to go, don't you? You understand that I _had _to leave you behind? It was the only way!" Sherlock insisted. Panicked, he withdrew his hand and climbed onto John's lap, capturing the doctor's face between his long fingers and resting their foreheads against one another.

John rubbed the back of Sherlock's shoulders. "Calm down. It's all right. Yes, I understand. Of course I do. I'll admit it took me a while, but I know Moriarty didn't leave you any choice. Its okay, Sherlock."

"Good, good." The tension in Sherlock's body lessened as he rested against John's frame.

"That's why I want everyone over, you see? I don't want to take my life, and the important people in it, for granted ever again." His strong fingers ran up and down the long back. "Mrs. Hudson reminds me of my Nan and I love her for that. She made sure I ate and took care of me even when I was horrible to her. She isn't afraid to give either of us what for and does more than any landlady or housekeeper ever would. There's no one like our Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock silently agreed.

"And behind Molly's awkwardness is a strong and intelligent woman who is part of the reason you made it out of Bart's alive that day."

"Yes," Sherlock had to admit. "She is, and she had to live with the secret for three years too. Not a simple task to ask of anyone."

"I know that wasn't easy for her, having to pretend she didn't know you were alive while we all grieved."

"It wasn't," was all Sherlock said.

John knew that was only because Molly had helped Sherlock escape and then sheltered him when he had visited the city for brief meet ups with Mycroft while on the run. Sherlock's opinion of the morgue attendant had risen during his time away.

John moved the conversation forward. "After I finally came back to 221B, Greg stopped by to check on me once a week. We'd go to the pub and talk. At first I thought it was because I was so pathetic. Here I was, 'poor John Watson,' limp back and nothing in his life except his work in the surgery treating colds and hypochondriacs. After I could see past my own life I realised he needed someone to talk to as well, a friend who would be there while his marriage fell apart. He's a good man and a good friend."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. Despite his scathing remarks about Lestrade's intelligence, John knew Sherlock respected and cared for the DI. Being one of three people targeted by Moriarty said a lot. There was a reason Anderson and Donovan's names had been absent from the short list.

"Of course I don't have to explain why I want Harry here. Now that she's been sober these past two years and really moved on with her life, we've finally been able to get along. At least as much as our Watson stubbornness and temper will let us," John joked to lighten the atmosphere.

"If I can stand to spend an evening in her company twice a year, then I am certain things have greatly improved between the two of you." Sherlock agreed.

"Cheeky," John teased.

Sherlock smiled against John's knitted jumper. "So you're thankful for Lestrade, Harry, Mrs. Hudson and Molly. I suppose there are worse people you could invite. I notice Mycroft's name was not listed among the others."

"Oh, there are things I'm grateful to Mycroft for. However, I'm still a bit pissed off at him for my last 'kidnapping' so a box of butter tablet was all he got this time."

"You sent him butter tablet? Sweets he can't resist, after he went on for over ten minutes about his new diet last week?" Sherlock looked at John in glee.

"Did he? Hmm, must have slipped my mind," John replied angelically.

Sherlock laughed. "Oh John, I do love you."

Warmth filled John's face as his fingertips ran lightly over Sherlock's cheek.

"That," he breathed. "That is the thing I am most thankful for."

"What?"

"Well, it's two things actually. Seven months ago, you turned up on my doorstep and, sporting a black eye shortly after, told me you loved me."

"Yes, then you proceeded to snog me senseless before you randomly slapped me across the face."

John giggled. "Well I was struggling a bit with choosing between love or hate for a while there."

"Yes, thankfully the punch and slap were greatly outnumbered by the amount of kisses bestowed upon my person that night." Sherlock placed his own gentle kiss against John's temple.

A rumbling stomach caused Sherlock to frown and John to smile.

"Back in the kitchen with you. If you eat your toast without too much trouble I might even make you some tea." John smacked Sherlock's lush backside lightly.

"Attempting to bribe me, as one would a young child, will not work," Sherlock cautioned as he got to his feet.

John didn't acknowledge the bluff as he followed his partner back into the kitchen.

"You aren't planning on having this 'dinner of thanks' every year are you?"

"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought, why?"

"Well, I have to wonder if you'll soon be advocating a day of extreme sales at the nearby stores the Friday after, should this become a tradition." Sherlock mocked as he filled the electric kettle. "Thankfulness one day and then insane shopping the next."

John groaned and placed his face in his palm. "Very funny, Sherlock."

"I'm only concerned for your well being," Sherlock insisted as he sat down and started to butter his toast.

"How about we make a deal? You don't make any more Thanksgiving or Friday Black Sa-"

"Black Friday sales, John," Sherlock corrected.

"Right, Black Friday Sales. You don't make any jokes about either of them and you behave yourself tonight while we have guests, and I will reward you when the dishes are washed."

"Lavender massage oil reward?"

John agreed.

"We'll use the black satin eye mask?"

John nodded his head.

"You'll let me make you come at least four times tonight?"

John's eyes met Sherlock's.

"If you want to keep me up half the night, then you had better be on your best behaviour until everyone's gone."

"Best behaviour," Sherlock echoed.

John started to turn away but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"John, you know I am thankful every day for your presence in my life, don't you?"

A joke danced on John's tongue but the earnest expression, as well as the tight grip on his arm, stopped it. Instead, John leaned down and softly kissed Sherlock.

"Oh yes, my temperamental love, I know."

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Author's Note: I mentioned butter tablet in an earlier piece of mine "They're Gone!" but for those who might not know what they are here is a brief description from Wikipedia:

A butter tablet is a medium-hard, sugary confection from Scotland. The tablet is usually made from sugar, condensed milk, and butter, boiled to a soft-ball stage and allowed to crystallize.

I have it on good authority that they're very yummy!


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